


Just Behind The Line

by O4amuse



Series: Five Little Pigs [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Flashbacks, Human Castiel, Identity Issues, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Castiel, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, Soul Bond, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-07-15 00:42:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7198379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/O4amuse/pseuds/O4amuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel gave his Grace and his life to complete the Angel Trials, closing the gates of Heaven forever. But death has never really been much of a speed-bump for the Winchesters, and they don't intend to let Cas go quietly into that good night.</p><p>What they brought back, though, isn't quite what they expected. Now Cas has to figure out what - and who - he has become. Because the voice in his head has some very different ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from a German WW2 love song, 'Lili Marleen'.
> 
> With ENORMOUS thanks to acj for correcting my crappy German. :-)

Not-dark.

 

Floating. Stretched. Infinitesimal. Expanded. 

 

But there was nothing to experience feeling with, so nothing was felt. 

 

Alone. But there was nothing to experience feeling with. Can nothing be lonely?

 

Not-dark.

 

Nothing.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain, an exploding supernova filled the not-dark, driving it back, back, in pulses of white shards. The double-thump of a drum, louder and louder, roared through the noiselessness.

Space expanded and contracted, rushing inwards in overwhelming waves of sensation that made everything richer and deeper and wider and smaller. The universe was contained, there were barriers. Not-dark outside, dark inside, filled with noise and agony and air.

Air.

Air flooded in, expanding, cold and sweet and burning. Then there was no room for more and the dark pushed it back out. It poured back again, unrelenting, filling the dark to the very edges. Defining the edges.

More noise, over the thundering drum. Loud and urgent, came from outside the dark. Pulled at something inside, dragging it towards the surface.

  “Cas! Come on, Cas, open your eyes. Cas, can you hear me?”

Where was the surface? Everywhere within the barriers was the same. But the noise was outside, a fixed point. Perhaps that was the surface?

  “Come on, man, wake up. You gotta wake up, Cas. Please.”

The dark remained but varying depths became gradually apparent. There was a colour filtering through. Follow the colour and the noise. Follow the air out. Find the surface.

  “That’s it, Cas, come on. Just open your eyes, buddy, I got you. You’re okay, you’re good, I’m right here. SAM!”

The last noise was so loud that the surface slammed forward. Something shifted and light flooded inside. Light that hurt, bright and real and filled with confusing colours which moved. A shape bent closer, filling the space outside the barriers, a solid mass of warmth and noise. It touched the barrier and air rushed inside sharply as hot weight pressed against the point between not-dark and light, between inside and out. Defined the difference.

  “Cas? Cas, look at me. You’re okay, it’s fine, I got you. Come on, buddy. Come on, Cas, look at me.”

Slivers of colour that somehow pierced into the dark, shining. Something moved beneath them, spreading wide.

   _Mund_ , came a whisper from the dark. _Augen._ _Grün_ _._

A silent explosion of pressure swept through the inside. Light and colour shut off, and the not-dark fell away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Mund. Augen. Grün. - Mouth. Eyes. Green.


	3. Chapter 3

Noise again, that same growling anchor, pulled the surface back.

  “...know me, Sam.”

  “It was always a risk. You heard Metatron.”

  “Like I’m gonna trust a word that asshat says.”

  “You need to be patient, Dean. He’s alive, that’s the main thing.”

  “But what if it ain’t him?”

  “We talked about this, man.”

Sam. Dean. Those sounds meant something important. They meant not-alone. Pain. But pain that mattered. Full of warmth and colour and…

   _Liebe?_ whispered the voice in the dark.

Such a small sound, filled with so much depth. It went down and down and down, a heat and a hunger, and the whisper spiralled after, filling the dark with susurrations of wonder.

_Ja. Du liebst ihn sehr._

  “Cas?”

The explosion of heat and pressure against the barrier pushed the surface forward and light flooded in. There were two forms outside now. Even their shapes were anchors. They extended closer, both pushing against the barrier. Air came and went quickly. Their colours pressed against… against another colour… against...

   _Das bin ich_ , said the whisper in the dark.

  “Easy, Cas, easy, man. Just breathe, okay?”

More pressure against the barrier. His barrier. His skin. His lungs. His mouth and eyes and ears. He was.

He **was**.

Was what?

  “Am I Cas?”

   _Nein_ , said the whisper in the dark.  

  “Yes,” said Dean, and pulled him into a hug. “Yeah, Cas. It’s gonna be okay. I got you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Liebe? - Love?  
> JJa. Du liebst ihn sehr. - Yes. You love him very much.  
> Das bin ich. - That is me.  
> Nein. - No.


	4. Chapter 4

Benny brought him soup in bed. Soup was easy, especially vegetable soup. He found eating something that might have had a whisper in the dark of its own very difficult. He was finding a lot of things very difficult.

The idea that he was, that he existed as a self-contained entity, held apart from the chaos of the universe by a thin cellular membrane, was almost overwhelming. He extended no further than his skin and yet, within that barrier, the dark went on forever. It was a complete reversal of how he had been when his wings and grace extended into the vastness of the universe, and he only skated across the surface of his vessel.

The idea that this was how Dean and Sam and Benny and Kevin felt, had always felt, was almost beyond his capacity to understand. They had their own whispers in the dark, their own spiralling depths that could never been seen or experienced by him. They were self-contained entities. It was dizzying.

Vegetables were safe. Dean had assured him, first with laughter and then with worry, that tomatoes didn’t think.

  “How you feeling, brother?” Benny asked, setting the tray down on the bedside cabinet.

  “I am…” He paused, wondering anew at the miraculousness of that sentence.

  “Cas?” Benny prompted after a moment.

   _Mein Name ist Erich_ , said the whisper in the dark.

  “I am fine,” he said quickly and took the spoon Benny held out.

  The vampire gave him an assessing look then nodded. “Remembered everything now?”

  “I went to take Metatron’s Grace. He and Crowley overpowered me. You came. There was a fight. They disappeared. I used my own Grace to close the gates of Heaven. The Trials killed me.”

It was a flat recital of events. He could see it happening but distantly, as if watching a television screen. What he felt was cold and weariness, down to the bone, and a deep numbing grief. Hatred of his own hands, so covered in mud and blood. Wishing he could go deaf, to be spared the screams and explosions and tense silences. Terror, so intense he couldn’t blink, as he raced towards death - his or theirs or both. Racking pain. The bitter certainty of loneliness.

  “Cas?” Benny touched his hand lightly, bringing him back to the surface. “You zoned out there for a moment.”

  “I apologise. The soup is excellent.”

  “Thanks for the compliment.” Benny grinned, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “Wait until you’ve actually tasted it.”

He put the spoon hurriedly into his mouth and ignored the burn of hot liquid over his tongue. It was delicious, a complex fusion of flavours and aromas that filled his senses. The whisper in the dark wanted more, dizzy with sensation. It had been so long since he had real food, so long living on dirt and ashes. He abandoned the spoon and raised the bowl to his mouth.

  “Easy, brother!” Benny stopped him with a hand to his wrist. “It ain’t worth pouring over yourself.”

  His hands were shaking. He stared at them. “I… I was so hungry.”

  “I got that.” Benny looked thoughtful. “In the interests of not upending the bowl over your head, how about I help out? Just this once, mind.”

The vampire sat on the bed and fed him carefully, spoonful by spoonful. He kept his hands clenched tightly in his lap and didn’t try to reach for the food. The first overwhelming bliss of taste soon subsided into something manageable but he didn’t speak. Finally Benny dropped the spoon into the empty bowl and stood up.

  “Alright, now. I gotta have a word with the boys. Why don’t you try to rest? I’ll come by and check on you in an hour.”

  “Yes. Alright.”

He leaned back against the pillows - _so weich!_ \- closed his eyes, and let go of the surface. It was so easy to slip down into the dark, like sinking into water. The whisper trailed after him like a string of shining bubbles as he felt the weight of his body fall away.

He was cold. So cold his bones hurt. Mud coated his boots, thick and heavy, making every step exhausting. It was night, clear and frost-bitten, the stars distant pinpricks that highlighted the ragged edges of the ditch towering on either side. He stuffed his hands under his armpits in a forlorn hunt for warmth.

Something moved in the air ahead, curling sinuously up against the dirt walls. Drifting yellow, creeping towards him. His boots were too heavy. His feet were too cold. He couldn’t move. Just watched as it came nearer and nearer. Was it a demon? He was human now - he could be possessed. The thought seemed distant, unimportant. But fear was blooming in his throat, leaving him breathless. He tried to inhale and yellow rode the air into his mouth.

_Ich werde sterben. Ich werde sterben. Ich werde sterben._

His chest seized, airless and cramping. His throat was burning, eyes streaming tears. He choked, convulsed. Iron bands clamped around his ribs. There was a pounding in his head, a roaring in his ears…

  “Wake up, Cas. It’s just a dream, brother. Wake up now.”

  A warm pressure against the barrier. He cried out, eyes flying open. “Ich werde sterben!”

  Benny was sitting on the bed again, one hand on his shoulder. The vampire’s eyes narrowed but he kept his voice calm and easy. “You’re alright. Just breathe. You’re alright.”

  He covered his face with his hands whilst the whisper in the dark sobbed into silence. “What is happening to me?”

  Benny sighed. “It ain’t so much what’s happening as what’s happened. And I ain’t the proper one to tell the tale.”

  “Dean?”

  “Sam, mostly.” Benny offered him a glass of water, waited as he took a grateful sip, and returned it to the bedside table. “Don’t get me wrong, Dean was proper torn up when you died and that man don’t handle grief graceful. It was Sam as had the idea, though. Couldn’t stand by and see his brother hurting so bad without doing something.”

  “What did he do to me?”

  “You remember that soul you pulled outta Heaven for the second trial? We summoned Metatron back and shoved it into you. No guarantees it was gonna work, of course, you not being soul-bonded and all. But then, it weren't a case of sharing it. The original owner ain’t using it no more. Dean said you’d still be yourself, you just needed a new engine.” Benny narrowed his eyes. “I guess that ain’t exactly so.”

  “Not exactly.” He turned towards the dark. _Who are you?_

  “Cas?” Benny said softly. 

  He opened his eyes. “My name is Erich Becker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Mein Name ist Erich - My name is Erich. (No prizes for guessing that one!)  
> So weich! - so soft!  
> Ich werde sterben. - I am going to die.


	5. Chapter 5

He sank deep, leaving lights and voices behind him, dragging the whisper in his wake.

   _That is not your mouth to use_ , he flared.

  Confusion. _Dann wessen ist es?_

He began to lay claim to it, and stopped. Around him, the dark carried on shifting, pumping, expanding and contracting. He was not the dark, and the dark was not him. It was his vessel. The mouth, and the tongue and teeth within it, they all belonged to Jimmy Novak. He had no more right to use them than Erich did.

A hot touch on his skin - no, Jimmy’s skin - jolted him back to the surface with Erich trailing behind.

  “You okay?” Dean said with squinting concern. “You kinda zoned out there.”

  Castiel shifted his gaze to Sam, who was looming anxiously at the foot of the bed. “Where am I?”

  Dean’s frown deepened. “You’re in your room, in the bunker. I mean, it used to be a guest room but I guess it’s yours now. If you want it.”

  “No.” Castiel gestured vaguely at himself. “Where am I? In this equation of mortality?”

  Dean and Sam exchanged a blank look. Benny shifted against the dresser, leaning forward a little. “Try another angle. We ain’t gettin’ it.”

  Castiel thought for a moment. “This is not my body. This is not my soul. So where am I?”

  Dean tapped a finger on Castiel’s chest. “You’re in here, dude. You’re talking to us.”

  “Do not be obtuse,” Castiel snapped, as the whisper in the dark surged.

  Benny raised a calming hand. “Easy, brother. This ain’t the first time you’ve been in this position.”

  “This is different. My grace is gone, which makes me mortal, but so is my soul. What is left?”

  “Your thoughts,” Sam said softly. “Your knowledge and memories. The things that make you _you_.”

  “Yeah, take it from the experts,” Dean said. “The soul ain’t like a personality. It’s more of a battery. An engine. And okay, so your chassis is second-hand. But the driver? That’s still you, Cas.”

  Castiel shook his head. “I dreamed Erich’s memory. He is still here. He still feels and thinks.”

  “So it ain’t a perfect analogy.” Dean shrugged. “There’s some crossover, I get that. It took a while before Sam and I stopped reading each other’s minds. It’ll fade, dude.”

  “Should it?” Castiel could feel the trembling whisper, seeping confusion and fear into the dark. It made his - Jimmy’s - heart beat faster. “I have no more right to be here than Erich does.”

  “Yeah, you do,” Dean said fiercely. “Jimmy gave you his express permission. Twice.”

  “The second time was under duress.”

  “So? He gave you his body. And God recreated it for you when it got exploded. It’s yours. So no more of this ‘got no right’ bullshit. You’re staying, you hear me?”

  “This is a body without a soul, and a soul without a body. Where does that leave me?”

  Sam raised his head, looking thoughtful. “There was a Platonic theory about the composition of a person. Plato said everyone was made up of the body, the spirit, and the mind. It’s the mind which gives someone their basic personality and which governs the whole. I guess, even if you aren’t the only one in there, you’re the one in charge.”

  “Right,” Dean said, relieved. “So you can tell this Erich guy to lump it.”

  “He did not choose this,” Castiel said, curling his fists into the sheets. “I was the one who ripped him from Heaven, and you were the ones who pushed him in here. It would be wrong to smother what remains.”

  “Then don’t,” Benny said easily. “You’ve cohabited before. Just because you ain’t an angel any more, it don’t mean you’ve forgotten how to do that. Just don’t give him the wheel, huh? There’s a lot round here he ain’t used to. It could get you properly killed, and we got no more spare souls laying around.”

  “No dying on me again, you hear?” Dean shoved gently at Castiel’s shoulder, giving a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Castiel took a deep breath and held Dean’s gaze. There was still fear coming from the whisper in the dark, but it wasn’t his fear. He floated above it, calm and light and… was that anger coming from him or Erich? It was hard to tell, but he thought might be his.

  “I was ready to die, Dean. I did die. To save the world.”

  “I know.” Dean’s smile fell away. Sam moved up quickly behind him, gripping his shoulder comfortingly.

  “You of all people should be able to respect that decision.”

  Dean snorted. “And you of all people shouldn’t be surprised we didn’t.”

  “What is dead should stay dead. Your words.”

  Dean flinched at that and looked away. Sam straightened up, mouth tightening. “Okay, enough. I get that you’re freaked by what’s going on, but there’s no call to take it out on Dean. For one thing, it was me that had the idea. And for another, we did it because we love you.”

Castiel felt a soft, silent impact of surprise. Warmth blossomed in the darkness, tinged with longing.

_Du hast Glück, Freunde wie diese zu haben._

  “You made a choice for me,” he said more gently. “Love does not give you such entitlements.”

  “No, it don’t,” Benny said, drawing their attention. “But it ain’t a crime either, to do what you think is best for the person you love. You didn’t choose to die, Cas. You chose to save the world, and that required a death. Different thing. So quit acting like you’ve been violated. Now,” he straightened up purposefully, “the patient here needs to rest. I got a prisoner to feed and you boys got some reading to do. Go on, now.”

Sam and Dean stood without hesitation. Dean leaned forward and patted Castiel’s shoulder again, then they left the room. Benny waited until they were done before turning back.

  “I don’t pretend to understand what you’re going through,” he said in a soft voice. “But I do know a thing or two about existential crises. The trick is not to overthink it. You’re here, you’re wanted, and you’re well. So what if there’s an extra voice in there? You never know, it might turn out you two can make friends.”

  Castiel cocked his head to one side. “I… had not considered that.”

  Benny grinned. “I ain’t just a pretty face. Now, I’ll be just down the hall if you need anything. Try and get some sleep.”

The door closed behind him, leaving Castiel alone. He closed his eyes and, for the first time, tried to sense the whisper in the dark as a separate entity. His grace was gone but, even without it, he got a faint echo of thyme~iron~soil~longing.

_I apologise for what has been done to you. This must all seem very bewildering. Perhaps we can learn from each other._

  The whisper uncurled a little.  _Ich würde das mögen. Vielen Dank._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Dann wessen ist es? - Then whose is it?  
> Du hast Glück, Freunde wie diese zu haben. - You are lucky to have friends like these.  
> Ich würde das mögen. Vielen Dank. - I would like that. Thank you.


	6. Chapter 6

Benny helped Castiel up to the library the following day. Walking was difficult at first. He and Erich both thought they were in control. Jimmy’s legs jerked unexpectedly and staggered. Benny caught him in strong hands and held him upright.

  “Easy, brother. I got you.”

  “I am no longer certain that these are my legs.” Castiel frowned down at the feet. They seemed very distant, suddenly. “Or how to make them move.”

  “Don’t overthink it. You ain’t running a three-legged race here, angel. Tell Erich to get back in his box.”

  “I am in the same box.”

  “Maybe that’s so, but you were there first. These are your legs, brought back into existence for you by God Himself. Remember?”

Castiel remembered. He remembered the searing pain as Lucifer’s power ripped through the molecules of his vessel, atomising his Grace, utterly destroying him. He remembered the sudden weight of form and gravity as he was remade. He remembered the absence of Jimmy’s soul, the seeming emptiness of the flesh without it. There had been no confusion of control when Jimmy was still present. Erich ought not to be a problem. Castiel firmed his jaw and tried again, steadied by the cool strength of Benny’s hand under his tricep.

  “See? Easy as pie.”

  “How is pie easy?”

  “You can ask Dean when we get upstairs.”

The staircase was challenging. Knees were complicated pieces of engineering, now that Castiel stopped to think about it. He had to tighten one muscle in his thigh whilst simultaneously relaxing another, shift weight forward on the other leg and then transfer it to the bent one, reverse the tension… Benny’s fingers tightened on his arm as he wobbled.

  “Don’t overthink it,” the vampire murmured again. 

There was no trace of impatience or mockery in his voice. Castiel took a deep breath and tried to think about the ease of pie whilst moving. The next few steps happened smoothly, which took him by surprise. He stopped, trying to figure out exactly how he’d done it.

  “It’s called muscle memory,” Benny said, urging him on. “The body knows how to do things because it’s done them so much before. The mind don’t need to get involved.”

  “If the vessel has a memory of its own, does that mean it has an identity of its own?” Castiel said. “Perhaps a fragment of Jimmy remains.”

  Benny shrugged. “I guess it’s his DNA, so sure. Does it matter?”

  “I am not certain.” Castiel got to the top of the stairs and straightened up with relief. “Strange, how a single letter of the alphabet can be so complicated.”

  “You mean ‘I’?” Benny smiled. “Welcome to the human condition, I guess. Come on, Sam’s got something.”

Sam and Dean were sitting next to each other, thighs touching. Dean cradled a coffee cup in both hands, watching whilst Sam hunched over his laptop. He looked up with a grin as Castiel and Benny came in.

  “Hey, look who’s walking. Grab a seat, dude.” He pushed out the chair next to him. 

  “Hello, Dean. Hello, Sam.”

  “Hey, Cas.” Sam turned the laptop to face Castiel as he sat down. “I found your, um, passenger.”

Castiel squinted at the screen, which was displaying a blurry black and white photo of men in uniform. A list of names with dates in brackets took up the bottom half of the page. Sam pointed at a face just left of centre.

  “Erich Becker, soldier in the 7th German Army Corps, Second World War.”

  Castiel felt the whisper in the dark stir. His chest and throat felt tense. “What happened to him?”

  “He got shot,” Sam said gently. “Fighting in France, in 1941.”

He remembered. He remembered the searing pain punching through his throat. The flood of heat spilling down his chest, soaking through his shirt, remembered the black vice tightening around his temples as he fought to drag air past the liquid that gurgled in his windpipe, drowning, surrounded by screams and smoke and wire and his friends dying on the ground around him, just out of reach, flailing in the mud like a fish, and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe through his own blood, cold and alone, where was Karl, why didn’t Karl take his hand…

  “Cas!” 

There was a crack of stinging pain across his cheek and his head jarred sideways. He shook it like a dog coming out of water and looked up at Dean in confusion. His friend was leaning forward, eyes narrowed in concern, arm ready for another slap. 

  “You back in the room?” Dean asked, gruff with worry.

  “Yes.” Castiel blinked, feeling the whisper in the dark curl shakily in on itself. “He had forgotten he was dead. You just reminded him.”

  Sam winced slightly. “Sorry, man. I guess it’s a bit loud in there, huh?”

  “Sometimes.” 

Actually, now that Castiel considered the question, he realised that it was quite the opposite. There was so much dark, and so little within it. His consciousness, whatever that comprised off, and the whisper that was Erich were not enough between them to fill the vastness behind the vessel’s eyes. Where was the constant reassuring background of noise, the hum of his brethren communicating that served to both ground him and connect him to the rest of Creation? He closed his eyes, frowning as he reached deeper in search of it and found only drifting, weightless silence. 

  “Cas, snap out of it!”

He opened his eyes, just in time to see Dean abort a second slap, and it felt like drowning. He realised that his vessel was dragging in air much faster than usual, without him asking it to. The light of kinship and cosmos had been cut off completely. He was adrift, lost within the darkness of his own singular consciousness.

  Benny crouched down in front of him, one hand resting lightly on his knee. “What’s wrong?”

  “The angels.” His voice was shaking and he couldn’t seem to stop it. “They no longer speak to me. I am alone.”

  Benny reached up and grasped his shoulder firmly. “Maybe it feels that way right now,” he said, and his voice was a calming rumble, “but your family’s right here. We got you, brother.”


	7. Chapter 7

In the absence of what Dean called ‘angel radio’, Castiel’s hearing felt like it had sharpened. He could hear the bass drumbeat of his pulse, deafeningly loud at times, and every silk-scritch of moving hair follicles. The steady thrum of electricity through the bunker made him want to tear the wires from the walls. The irregular drip-drip-drip from the kitchen sink, the movement of air as doors swung freely, the startling volume of confident boots on stone, it all combined to assail his ears with simultaneously too much and too little sound. 

In desperation he retreated to his room. He could hear the pinging filament in the lightbulb and flicked the switch back off. The sheets hissed and the springs whined when he rested his weight against the mattress, so he found a corner without fabrics and sat cross-legged on the floor. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back. There was a waterpipe nearby, liquid singing in the walls, but that was on the edge of pleasant. He drew in a steadying breath and tried to rise past the nagging confines of flesh.

A fold of cloth pressed into his right buttock. He shifted, pulled it straight, and settled.

A slight itch on his upper lip. He tried to ignore it. It grew and grew, until it filled his mind. With a sigh he reached up and scratched at the irritated skin, soothing it.

Blood began to slow and pool in his left foot. A tingling sensation, prickling along his nerves, becoming more and more urgent. He wriggled his toes… Jimmy’s toes… and the tingles became a burn that crawled along the entire limb. He straightened his leg with a wince, massaging the muscle until blood flow returned to normal, then propped it up with his knee close to his chest and tried to settle again.

But now there was a weight in his torso, gnawing silently. He thought it might be sorrow, but it did not come from Erich. That grief was distinct, sharper, in his head rather than his chest. Was he mourning the loss of his kin? It would not be the first time but it hadn’t felt like this before, nausea clutching at the base of his throat and a faint throbbing in the muscles behind his eyeballs. 

_ Du bist hungrig. _

Castiel had experienced hunger in the past, once or twice, but Erich’s knowledge of it was far more extensive. It came with the smell of putrid mud and a tiredness so profound that Castiel had to force his eyes open with a grunt. His limbs were cold and heavy, his belly hollowed out into an aching cave, his face and fingers numb. 

_   This is not my hunger. _

_   Wenn wir einen Körper teilen, teilen wir, was dieser Körper fühlt.  _

But Castiel had never felt what it was to be a soldier in such a little war. Erich’s memories might be curdling in the dark that was his mind, but they were not his. He pushed back fiercely, forcing the cold from his flesh and his thoughts.

He was not expecting resistance.

The whisper in the dark unfolded, wrapping tendrils around Castiel. All his short, mortal life Erich had kept the knowledge of who he was close, secret and sheltered deep inside, and there it had found strength in its silent solitude. This was his ground. 

Castiel cried out as human emotion tore fault lines through his chest. Some alien force gripped his heart and squeezed until his ribs ached. Fear loneliness guilt despair love love love, on and on it went, deep as the roots of an oak tree, burrowing into every nerve until Castiel could barely breathe with it. He thought he had known what it was to feel but this was more raw, more personal, than an angel could endure without falling. This was feeling bound in flesh, and it  **hurt** .

He became dimly aware of an external pressure against his chest, a soothing rumble vibrating over the top of his head, and wetness on his face. He drew in a fractured breath and it came with the scent of spices.

  “Easy now, brother, easy. Ain’t nothin’ gonna keep you under, not for long. You’n’me, we seen the ghetto at Hell’s doorstep, we can ride this out just the same. Just breathe for me, cher, breathe deep, coz the Lord knows one of us should.”

  “Benny.” The sound was cracked, barely recognisable, but the arms around him tightened a little.

  “Right here, Cas. I gotcha.”

The whisper in the dark subsided in the face of Benny’s recognition, and Castiel blinked the tears from his eyes. There was still an ache in him, gnawing at his core, but he was no longer overwhelmed. He concentrated on regulating his airflow, using the bright notes of paprika and cayenne pepper to anchor him in reality.

  “I cannot hear my pulse,” he said at last.

  “I can,” the vampire reassured him with a soft curl of amusement. “You’re still goin’, I promise.”

Castiel wanted to tell Benny the silence was a good thing, that the presence of someone else without the extra noise of heartbeat and breath was even better. That all he wanted was quiet and company. But somehow, held together and grounded in the arms of his friend, he drifted into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Du bist hungrig. - You are hungry.  
> Wenn wir einen Körper teilen, teilen wir, was dieser Körper fühlt. - If we share a body, we share what that body feels.

**Author's Note:**

> Love your local writer - give kudos generously. :-)


End file.
